


Fate of the Peredhil

by Grundy



Series: Daughters of Celebrían [5]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Character Death, Gen, Past Character Death, War of the Ring
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-05-09 20:28:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5554187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grundy/pseuds/Grundy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vignettes set during the War of the Ring, in which Buffy does not join the Fellowship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fate of the Peredhil

Aragorn would have drawn back had he known who was in this particular grotto, but it was too late- if he retreated now, she would know. She already thought poorly of him, he will not have her think him a coward as well.

Anariel had been a presence in Imladris for most of his childhood. He had many fond memories of her, especially since Tindomiel, who was close to his own age, had lost interest in him as he grew to maturity faster than she did. Anariel had been his partner in mischief for the best part of a decade. She was the one who taught him some of the best ways to kill yrch, and inducted him into the secret of ‘Scooby’, the strange variation on the Common Tongue that she spoke with her mortal friends. Even when he first declared his love for Arwen, she had still been his closest companion of all the children of Elrond.

In retrospect, he is certain that was only because she believed it was a passing infatuation. In her eyes, he had no chance of success with her beloved elder sister, but she’d been kind enough not to voice it. He had expected that it would be the twins who objected to the union, not Anariel Dagnis.

She has never looked at him the same since he and Arwen plighted their troth. Whenever she regards him now, he sees pain in her eyes, and he cannot bear to see that where once there was only joy and comradeship. At first, he had feared perhaps she loved him as he loved Arwen, but he has seen how she looks at a certain ellon in unguarded moments, so he knows that is not the cause of her pain.

He has not avoided her company, but nor has he sought her out as he once might have. Their friendship is a pale echo of what it once was.

“My lady,” he murmured, as she looked up. “I did not mean to intrude.”

The shadow is in her face, as it has been for nearly forty years.

“You are no intruder, Estel,” she replied. “This is your home as much as mine.”

Some might think she was being gracious. He was not so sure.

Imladris is certainly her father Elrond’s home, but the years of his abiding here are drawing to a close. There are some who might question Anariel claiming it as her home, since she has split her time between Imladris, Lorien, and Eryn Lasgalen- but they are hardly the only places she has dwelt. She has journeyed to Mithlond, and Dol Amroth, and perhaps other places he knows not. He is not the only one who has used another name.

If Elrond cannot remain in Imladris much longer- whether because the Enemy is defeated utterly and he may at last make the westward journey to rejoin his kin, or because the Enemy is victorious and he is slain or fled- nor can his daughters. Valinor will be their home, unless they choose to number among the Edain. To his knowledge, only one among their number has chosen that path.

“Our time runs short, then,” he said, choosing not to delve into her statement. “The hour in which the Enemy strikes is nearly upon us.”

“You tell me nothing I do not already know, Strider,” she shot back.

He is relieved to hear the nickname. She cannot hate him so much if she can still tease him.

“My lady- Anariel.”

He paused. They have avoided the subject for so long. But come what may in the Council on the morrow, he will be riding to war very soon. He suspected the same was true for her. She has been preparing for this for as long as he can remember- his entire life. Either or both of them may die in the war. But for him there will be no reunion in Valinor if he is struck down. He does not wish to leave things unsaid.

“ _Buffy_. I would know, before we ride to what may well be our doom, why it is you think me not good enough for Arwen.”

He stands, straight, tall, not a king- not yet, though he dares to hope- and awaits her answer, praying it will not be as ugly as he fears.

The pain in her eyes only grows, and he knows that this will be no pretty speech. She has always been blunt when it touches matters of the heart.

“It is not you I object to,” she replied, and his heart soars. “It is what you demanded of her besides her hand. You made her swear herself to the Edain, to death.”

“If Arwen herself does not object-“ he began, but she interrupts.

“How can she? She does not realize what it is you ask of her. I am not sure you do, either!”

He was taken aback.

“But you do?” he asked, trying to understand.

“More than anyone here, except perhaps Adar,” she told him, and now there is a spark of anger in her eyes. He’s not sure if that’s better or worse than pain. “I lived as a mortal, Estel, for nigh twenty years, a long time as the children of Men reckon it. I remember what it is to live knowing you must die- and I lived knowing that death was coming for me sooner than for most!”

This is the first time he’s heard her speak in any detail of her life before she returned to Arda with her mother and younger sister, and he listens avidly. It is not something she shares with many.

“I had no idea I was not Edain, that there was a reason it was so easy for Xander to pull me back from death. My fate was beyond my control- I was chosen to be a warrior, to fight the darkness, and death was my only escape. Then, when we returned to Arda, my friends came with me- Xander, Anya, Willow…” she hesitated only a moment “…and Tara.”

She can scarce speak the name, even now, after two years, of the gentle mortal slaughtered by yrch not ten miles from Imladris. He had not been there to see, but Aragorn has heard the tales of how the red witch nearly went mad with grief. Tindomiel seems to think Nienna herself intervened to save her from the darkness that nearly consumed her. Anariel will likely reproach herself for her failure that day until the breaking of the world, though no one else faults her.

“And now,” Anariel continued, “while the Gift is no longer mine, my friends are still mortal. Adar and the others of the Council believe they’ve been granted the life of Numenor, which is longer than we had expected. But even so, I’ve known since the day Daernana told me I already numbered among the Eldar that the day is coming when we will be parted until the world is remade. The time is too short- it has _always_ been too short- and it grows shorter every day. All too soon comes the loss, and the silence, when I will have nothing more than memory. It was hard enough to feel that for them, but now, at your demand, I must feel the same for my big sister. That is mortality, and it is not something Arwen understands. She understands even less what it is to die.”

“Beyond the circles of the world is more than memory,” Aragorn tells her gently. “The Gift is more than just death.”

“I know,” Anariel said, and he hears in her voice the pain of centuries. “But that changes nothing.”

He saw the tears in her eyes before she turned.

“Anariel!”

He has no right to touch her, not even to comfort her, not when he cannot deny the justice of her charge- Arwen would never have chosen the Gift but for him. But nor can he allow her to think only on the grief.

“I swear to you there will be joy as well, not only loss and silence.”

“I know, Estel,” she said quietly.

“What of you?” he asked, hoping to turn her thoughts to better paths. “You have seen Arwen’s fate. What of your own?”

“There is joy in mine as well,” she answered, but he knew her well enough, even now, to recognize when she was being evasive.

“What else?” he asked, dreading the answer, because he knows she will not lie.

“I may have gone between worlds,” she answered softly, “but my fate is what it always was. Where the Enemy threatens, there will I be.”

His heart nearly breaks for her, because he understands what she means. She will be there, standing side by side with the mightiest of her kin, at the end of all things.


	2. Gather The Stars

Aragorn was relieved that they spoke about the unease that has stood so long between them.

Since that conversation, if Anariel cannot be as relaxed with him as she was in his youth, she is at least _Buffy_ again. He treasures that. Now that he is one of the Nine Walkers, he was glad to have even that small joy in these last days of calm before the storm. The Fellowship’s departure was imminent; they awaited only the return of the twins before setting out.

Anariel, to his great surprise, had declined to number herself among the Nine. In fact, she had spoken against that idea immediately when Boromir of Gondor suggested it. The son of the Steward had been awestruck by the presence of the legendary Dagnis, and had thought it only right that the mightiest of warriors accompany the Ring.

She might be young as the Eldar accounted it, but she was wise. She had pointed out that what hope the Ringbearer’s quest had lay in secrecy, not might.

“My presence would only serve to draw the Enemy’s eye,” she told them firmly. “It would be the surest way to doom us all. I desire as much as any here to see Sauron defeated, but not thus will it be achieved.”

The glint in her eye as she argued against herself or even Glorfindel being named to the Fellowship convinced Aragorn that she had other plans. He was unlikely to learn of them, however. They were only just speaking to each other again, and she had ever known how to keep her own counsel. Lady Galadriel’s influence was plain enough in the grandchild who most resembled her.

It was with some surprise he found Tindomiel waiting for him that evening when he sought his rooms in the gathering dusk.

“Come on, we’ve been waiting on you, stupid,” she said without preamble, addressing him as she had when they were both carefree teenagers, when the Shadow in the East that might destroy them all was yet only the whisper of a nameless fear.

“Who’s ‘we’, Tinu?” he asked.

She arched an annoyed eyebrow at him.

“I’m both older and taller than you now,” she said crossly.

He grinned. She didn’t mind the nickname from her older siblings, and he’d begun using it when he reached his full height- much to her irritation, a good twenty years before she did.

To be fair, she occasionally objects to her shorter sister calling her 'little star' as well.

“Only by half an inch,” he pointed out, unable to resist baiting the elleth he’s thought of as his little sister since his nineteenth year, when Elrond had finally sat his youngest daughter and his foster son down for a talk about the differences between eldar and edain before anyone’s feelings became too bruised by mutual confusion. She might have been older than him in years, but the eldar matured more slowly than Men in both body and understanding of the heart.

He kept pace with her easily as they bantered their way through the gardens. They may be adults or nearly so now, but it is comforting to be childish again, with one he has known from his youth, just for an evening. He will not say so aloud, but he may never have the chance again. Victory is far from certain, and if they are defeated, he will not return.

Tindomiel led him to a pavilion some distance from the main buildings, nestled near a pool at the foot of one of the gentlest waterfalls in the valley. He has not been here recently, but it was ever the favored retreat of the children of Elrond.

As they enter, he is surprised to see that that is exactly who occupies it now.

He had not known the twins had returned, but they must have gone straight to their father before slipping away to this sanctuary. Arwen’s eyes were on him as he embraced her brothers, relieved to see they have returned unharmed.

She was sitting in a nest of cushions and blankets the girls had constructed, braiding her middle sister’s hair in a style that is both intricate and practical, while Anariel sprawled on the ground with her head in her older sister’s lap.

“Oh, good, that’s everyone,” Anariel said brightly.

“Everyone?” he asked, bemused.

“You know,” Tindomiel replied. She did not say ‘duh!’ but he could hear the unspoken words all the same. “Us. The Elrondionath.”

He is touched that they still count him among them as they once did. He had rather thought that altered irrevocably.

Arwen smiled at him.

“It was Tindomiel’s idea,” she said. “She thought it important we gather tonight.”

He raised an eyebrow at his foster sister, surprised.

She shrugged.

“We may never all be together in one place again,” she said matter of factly, unaware of how it echoes his earlier thought. Or maybe not so unaware- with Tinu, he’s never quite sure. “I would not have any of us later regret not having done this.”

He understood then. All of them have made their choices. It is those who remain Eldar who would feel the regret. Those who are mortal, should their days end after they leave the haven of Imladris, will pass beyond the circles of the world, beyond regret. But either way, there will be no reunion for them before the remaking of the world.

Tindomiel has never, to his knowledge, entertained the slightest thought of choosing the life of the Edain. He knows her father has assigned warriors to escort her and her mother to the Havens if the war should go against them. Those possessions she would not willingly leave behind have already been sent ahead to the ships.

Anariel’s choice is long since made – she has been of the Eldar since before he knew her.

He glanced to the twins. At their faint look of sorrow and regret, he understood that they too will make the journey to the Undying Lands, one way or the other. In cleaving to him, Arwen now sunders herself from all her siblings as well as her parents and the rest of her kin in Aman.

Tindomiel’s hand was gentle on his arm as the realization sank in, and Elrohir gave him a sympathetic pat on the other arm. There is nothing any of them could say to make this moment easier, nor the unavoidable parting they all know lies yet before them.

“We leave tomorrow then?” he asked, looking to the twins for the answer.

Elladan shook his head.

“Adar awaits the return of the last scouting party before the Fellowship sets out. He would send you with the best information possible of what lies before you. Your journey has perils enough without beginning it half-blind.”

He is puzzled for a moment, before he slowly turns to Anariel.

She nodded – or nodded as best she could with the Evenstar’s nimble fingers still at work.

“I depart at first light,” she said quietly.

Before he could ask, Elrohir preempted him.

“Better you do not know, brother,” he told him somberly. “If you both succeed, there will be time enough for tales in your palace in the white city.”

He looked back to Anariel, who is suddenly very much one of the mighty of her people. The eyes that meet his appear much older than he is used to seeing them.

“You march to Mordor, Estel, and all our hope goes with you. Yours is already the heavier burden. Do not concern yourself with my road.”

“I may yet come to Mordor,” he replied slowly. “But you bear that knowledge as well as your own task.”

“Do not worry,” she laughed. “The Enemy will not discover from me what you intend.”

That had not been what he meant, but he shuddered at the lighthearted reply, unable to keep his thoughts from what Sauron would do to her if she fell into his hands. He has seen what mercy captives of the Dark Tower may expect.

She sat up, carefully, allowing Arwen time to disengage from her nearly finished hair. Then she stood, and it startles him afresh after so long without her company to realize that she is still so small. She would be called tiny even among the Dunedain. Eldar who do not know her mistake her for an elfling. He will not think on how easily the torturers of Mordor would break such a delicate creature, warrior though he knows her to be.

To his surprise, she tipped his face down, forcing his eyes to meet hers squarely.

“I told you true, Estel. You need not worry. The only thing the Enemy will have of me if I fail is my bones.”

“ _Which if they have as I will leave ‘em them…_ ” Tindomiel said suddenly in the California tongue.

He did not recognize the words, but he guessed she must be quoting some song that only she and her sister will know.

“ _Shall yield them little_ ,” Buffy finished, her eyes serious despite the small smile on her face. “You see, Estel? Tinu gets it. I will sell my life dearly, and above all, they will not have me alive. For my mother and grandmother’s sakes as much as for yours and Frodo’s.”

They all know the fate of her great uncle. Tindomiel had wept for the best part of a week when she realized that Finrod was not just an elven hero, but her beloved grandmother’s much adored big brother. Aragorn can only hope that if he and Arwen are Beren and Luthien in this tale, she is not Finrod Felagund, sacrificing herself in the dark that they may live.

He nodded slowly, and Tindomiel rolled her eyes.

“Would the both of you quit being morbid just because you’re off to try to get yourselves killed soon? Tonight is about having a beautiful time together. For all of us to remember when the days grow dark.”

Anariel smiled and after pressing a fond kiss on her younger sister’s cheek, returned to allow Arwen to finish her work.  
Their brothers fetched the ice cream Aragorn had not noticed. Before long, all six of them were lounging about in postures that would no doubt startle Boromir of Gondor as well as the halflings if any of them happened upon them.

They honored Tindomiel’s request and did not speak of the War, the Ring, or any other dark tidings. It has been many years since they were all in one place together. They trade news and tales that some have heard but others have not, tease, and play as they have not done in years. Aragorn had not known of this idyll in advance, so he is the only one who has not brought a favored treat, but there is food a plenty all the same. It is not just the ones who do not face mortal death who will treasure the memory of these fleeting hours in the days to come.

It was, to everyone’s surprise, Elrohir who hit on the question of what they would do if there was no Enemy, no Shadow, no Doom. All Arda open to them, and no parting for all time fast approaching.

“I would see all of Ennor,” Tindomiel said dreamily. “Not just Eriador and Lothlorien. I would greet every tree in Rhovanion, sail Belfalas, cross Umbar, and buy flowers in the markets of farthest Harad. I would go beyond the sea of Rhun to find Cuiviénen, to see the place where our people first looked on the stars. I would journey to the uttermost East to see the Gates of Morning.”

From the look on her face, she could easily lose herself in a reverie of how much there was to see and do in Middle Earth, all of which would soon be lost to her. She shook herself free with difficulty when Elladan laid a gentle hand on her wrist and called her name softly.

“Your turn, Estel,” she said lightly.

He chewed his lip.

“I suppose I would see the White City restored to glory,” he began, only to be pelted with popped corn by all three ellith as the twins groaned at his lack of creativity.

“You’re meant to say what you _would_ do, not what you _will_ do,” Arwen laughed.

“So nothing with Minas Tirith or being king,” Anariel added. “That’s _will_.”

“What would you do?” he asked, stalling for time as he tried to consider.

He has known what he wanted his future to contain for so long that the idea he could be happy and not be king required thought. He’s also not sure if he’s allowed to say ‘marry Arwen’, since that may also be will instead of would to their minds – although he would happily marry her and spend the rest of their lives in some blissful private idyll as Luthien and Beren had done.

Anariel cocked her head to one side as she considered.

“I think I would build a cottage near the sea, where I could walk on the beach whenever I wanted. And I would still work metal, but not weapons, because no one would need them. I would make beautiful things just for the joy of it. Maybe jewel boxes or musical instruments- things people would find delight in.”

There is a wistful note in her voice he has never heard before. He can’t help but think that is what her future does hold, a cottage on the shores of Eldamar, a forge that has no need to craft swords, and an ellon who will cherish her always. He fervently hopes that she says this because she believes it could still be, and not because she has already seen that it never can.

Before he can ask, Elladan jumped in, lightening the moment.

“Ellith,” he said decisively. “Many ellith that I have never seen before. Just think how many there must be in the world that we have never met!”

His youngest sister gave a decidedly unelvish snort, while Arwen nearly laughed water out her lovely nose, especially when Elrohir added several interesting ideas about what they might- separately or together- persuade those ellith to do.

“I,” Elrohir said when his sisters had calmed themselves enough to listen again, “would search for the Silmaril that was given to the sea. No doubt I would find many beautiful things under the sea first, but I would like to know if Feanor’s jewels were really so wonderful as the songs say.”

Anariel shook her head.

“No jewel was worth the blood that was spilled for even one of them,” she muttered.

Arwen glared at her brother.

“You do this on purpose, ‘Ro,” she sniffed. “Now she will brood all the rest of the night about Fëanor. And I will no doubt learn still more California words for _selfish idiot_.”

“I won’t,” Anariel promised, her eyes sparking with sudden mischief. “Especially not when Estel is still thinking on such a fiendish question as what he would do if he could do anything at all!”

Arwen laughed.

“I make no answer for him,” she said, “But for me, I would gladly stay here forever, all of us together in Imladris.”

“Me too,” Tindomiel said, suddenly cuddling into her oldest sister’s side as she rarely did these days.

“And me,” Elladan grinned.

Abruptly there was a massive group hug, as if they all sensed the way time had slipped away. It was broken when Elrohir said in a small voice that he saw light on the horizon.

“Yes, it is your hour, Tinu,” Elladan said softly.

All eyes turned to Anariel, whose smile was sad as she reluctantly looked to the east before turning back to face them.

“I will say no farewells here,” she told them. “This was wonderful, and I will not have it touched with sorrow and parting.”

“The east road?” Arwen asked quietly.

Anariel nodded.

“Any who would say farewell must say it there. For now, I will carry Arwen’s wish with me and remember us here, together, always.”

The unspoken _come what may_ hangs in the air as she walked with quiet determination in the direction of the stables and did not look back.


	3. We Happy Few

Aragorn was not the only one who awaited Anariel at the East Gate. Arwen and the twins were there as well, along with their father. Celebrían’s farewells must have been said in private – though he cannot imagine she is pleased that Anariel is riding east against the Enemy. She has always hoped her middle daughter would settle down and be more like her sisters. It hasn’t happened yet, and Aragorn occasionally wonders how long it will take before Celebrían accepts that Anariel is a warrior, not a politician or a scholar.

Tindomiel was also nowhere to be seen. Arwen caught his eye as he looked about for her.

“She will not be here,” she said quietly. “She dislikes partings such as this. And someone must look after the children.”

“The children?” he asked, startled. “But surely-“

He stopped, as Anariel drew near, leading her horse. He was unsurprised to see Glorfindel and Asfaloth at her side. The shock was that all three surviving Scoobies were also packed and ready to depart, even Anya.

“The children,” he murmured, understanding now what Arwen meant. Jesse, Joy, Tasariel, and Califiriel are all too young to go to war. Even though their parents all mean to ride out.

“Surely at least Anya should remain here in Imladris?” he suggested weakly.

The lady in question pinned him with a steely glare.

“Nice try, buster,” she snapped. “We all know the score. He may not come back from this.”

She pointed at her husband, who was simply shaking his head at Aragorn’s foolishness as she plowed on.

“You think I’m just going to sit around at home waiting for news of him? And if the worst should happen, be left to wonder if it would have changed things if I had gone with him?”

“But you may also-“

He cannot finish the statement. To say it might make it so.

“Jesse and Joy are old enough to understand that there are worse things in the world than dying,” Anya said brusquely. “And certainly old enough to understand that the place of a parent is to do everything in their power to protect their children. If we lose, there is no ship waiting at the Havens for mortals, no retreat to the Uttermost West for my son and daughter. We have to make our stand here in Middle Earth. There is no other choice.”

He turned to Willow, but saw her famous resolve face. He knew from experience that nothing he could possibly say that will shake that, especially not when she has the full support of the others, so he appealed to Glorfindel.

“Your daughters surely need one parent at least. Califiriel has already lost her mother. They are not yet thirty!”

In elven, even in half-elven terms, Willow and Tara’s daughters are still children. And they look it, compared to their fully Edain companions, despite being older than Jesse by over a full decade.

Glorfindel shook his head as well.

“I have fought to the death to defend the innocent once before. If I come to the same pass, at least I will know this time that those I care about most will be safe. Last time I had no such comfort.”

He is confused, until Arwen explains.

“If it comes to the worst, the children will flee to Mithlond with my sister and my mother to take ship.”

Arwen, it goes without saying, will not. She has chosen mortality for his sake, and to that she will hold. He does not ask what they mean to do with the mortal children, who cannot set foot in Aman. Not even for the daughter and granddaughter of Galadriel can he imagine such an exception would be granted. He bowed his head. It was not right, and yet, he could find no argument against it. This has clearly been planned for some time.

“Cheer up, Hope,” Willow said cheerfully. “You’ll get to go find trouble of your own soon enough. It’ll take your mind off of what we’re up to.”

And then the farewells had to be said, because Buffy – she is ever Buffy when she is with them – and her companions were ready to leave. He did not even know where they meant to go.

To his surprise, it was she who had the last word before their departure.

“Estel, you carry my sister’s heart and all our hope with you,” she said. “Look to your own task, and trust that I will do what I do best – fight the darkness with all that I have at my disposal.”

“I do not ask you to do this,” he replied. “I would sooner see you protect those we hold dear.”

Buffy looked at him sadly.

“It is not for you to ask,” she told him gently. “I do as I have always done – fight as I can, in the way that seems best to me. That is the only way I know to protect those I love. And I tell you this, Aragorn Arathornion, in case we do not meet again: if my death is necessary to bring about Mordor’s defeat, be assured I count it a small price. Those who ride with me do so freely, and in full knowledge of what we face at journey’s end. Our fate is not in your hands. If we succeed, we shall meet again before the end.”

She says nothing of _if we fail_. He was not sure such a thought had ever crossed her mind.

She rode out, her sworn sister and brother at her side, singing merrily. He recognized it as a song of California, although after all these years he is still not sure what a _yellow submarine_ is.

Glorfindel glanced back at him once, and then the whole party rounded a bend and is lost to his sight.

His foster father’s eyes looked troubled when Aragorn chanced to meet them, but Elrond said nothing as they made their way inside. Tindomiel was already at breakfast, although he is not certain why, seeing as she was concentrating far too intensely on not crying to eat.

This, more than any need to oversee sleeping children, probably accounted for her absence from her sister’s departure. Even if she would have gone, he was certain her brothers and eldest sister had the sense to forbid it. Her tears would not have broken her sister’s resolve – when Anariel has set her mind on a task, it would take more than tears to shift her from her chosen course – but they would have sent her on her way in a worse frame of mind.

The change from just an hour ago is abrupt, and he cannot help but give her a questioning look.

“I _hate_ this,” she explained between sniffles. “This mortality thing. It is so hard to say goodbye knowing I will not see them again. I always thought we would have longer...”

It feels like ice has settled in his gut, because she speaks with the certainty born of foresight. At his questioning look, she managed to say what he already feared she meant.

“They will not return.”

“Did you tell them this?” he demanded.

She nodded forlornly.

“They knew before they went, and made me swear not to tell Anariel,” she says sadly. “She might have tried to make them stay here in safety, and they would not be left behind. Willow said she knew she would be needed, that Buffy couldn’t possibly do this on her own. Xander told me that trying to base our actions on prophecy and foresight is a surefire way to go crazy. Anya said this is part of being human, so it is what she will do. And Glorfindel wouldn’t help me make them see reason. He said if such is their fate, then they have chosen it freely and we cannot undo it.”

She really had tried to talk them out of it, then. He did not know what to say. Fortunately, Elrond did.

“You ought not to have spoken to Estel of this, gilya nín,” he said gently. “Your sister desired him to accompany the Fellowship with a heart unburdened by her cares.”

Tindomiel gave her father a rather watery look of disbelief, hurt at being reproved, before nodding and then burying her face in his shoulder as he embraced her to lessen the sting of the rebuke. The twins arrived almost immediately to lead their baby sister away to recover her composure.

Aragorn turned to Elrond.

“If I ask what errand Anariel has in the East, will you answer?”

The lord of Imladris sighed. For Elrond Half-Elven, all choices in this War were fraught with sorrow, and all roads led to loss. At best he would lose Arwen to the Fate of Men. If it did not go well for the free peoples, he might see all his children slain.

“I will not,” he replied heavily.

Elrond paused, and looked away, a sure sign that the subject was painful to him.

“You already know more than she wished. Nor can I tell you what you truly desire to know. Her fate, like yours, is now beyond my sight. I know not if she will return, or if I must tell her mother to await her at the gates of Mandos.”


	4. The Unforgiving Minute

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is a reference to [If](http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/175772). 
> 
> Also, if you don't like fics wherein Scoobies die, it's time to stop reading. (The deaths are 'off-screen', and one is yet to come, but still- fair warning.)

The next time Aragorn saw her, it was in a tent in North Ithilien, on the road to the Morannon. The Pelennor and Minas Tirith were theirs, but the commanders of the Armies of the West knew that meant little. Sauron still had untold numbers in Mordor with which to assail them, and there was no word of the Ringbearer’s fate.

He had taken counsel with Imrahil, Eomer, Elladan, Elrohir, Legolas, Gimli, and Mithrandir. The wizard had advised them to push Sauron to his last desperate throw- to march with all their remaining strength on Mordor, walking clear-eyed into the trap, thereby drawing Sauron’s attention and hordes away from his own land to give Frodo what chance they could.

In one day, two at most, they will stand before the Black Gate to challenge the Enemy. At that point, either the Ringbearer will complete his quest, or they will be destroyed utterly. All hope now lay with two small Halflings somewhere between here and Mount Doom.

He, Imrahil, and Eomer had just agreed on the order in which the men of the West will march into battle when Aragorn saw his foster brothers both look toward the entrance of the tent.

She entered limping for the first time he can ever remember seeing, with a cloth that has seen better days wrapped around one hand. He could not keep the surprise from his face. He has never known her to not shake off injury quickly, and from what her brothers have let slip, she must have been riding hard for several days to arrive here. So to see her bruised and still marked with traces of battle is a shock.

But there is worse.

Five rode out from Imladris. Only two have come to Gondor. There was a bandage on Xander’s face, covering one eye– and he suddenly feared that there was no eye beneath it. Willow, Anya, and Glorfindel were nowhere to be seen, and the pain visible in the eye of the man he has looked up to all his life suggests that they will not be seen again.

“You are late,” Elrohir told his sister, but Aragorn can see even if the other mortals cannot that the attempt to be lighthearted has cost his foster brother greatly.

Anariel rolled her eyes.

“Two of us, one horse,” she replied with a shrug.

“Only one horse?” Elladan asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Things got… messy,” was the only explanation she was willing to give. “Glorfindel thought he would be able to get another soon enough to win the race to Imladris if it should go against us here, so he loaned me Asfaloth. He swore to me he would see our mother and sister safely aboard a ship.”

Unspoken is the understanding that if it comes to that, both their cousin and their father will likely die defending the retreat of the Imladrim.

“Anyway, you aren’t at Mordor yet, so we’re not that late,” she finished, dropping into the chair her brother had just steered her to.

“My lady,” Prince Imrahil said carefully, “you cannot mean to march with us to Mordor. There is no great hope for any of us, but you least of all-”

The eyes she turned on him were furious. Normally she had some measure of patience with those who would class her as ‘child’ or ‘maiden’, but not this day. She has already been pushed to the limits of her tolerance by whatever passed in the East.

“I least of all?” she demanded. Her voice was quiet, but there is danger in it nonetheless. “I should have said it the other way around.”

Aragorn could see at once that there is no way they could possibly stop her. She wanted to bring her losses home to the Lord of the Rings, bodyless though he may be- and he does not think he would want to be in Sauron’s place, not when Anariel Dagnis’ eyes burn with such fire.

“Besides,” she laughed mirthlessly. “I did not ride all this way risking death with every stride to be sent home like a child by boys younger than my baby sister. And you _need_ me.”

She gestured at her breastplate, and it is only then that he noticed the device she has blazoned on her armor: the sun of Finwë superimposed on the star of Eärendil with its brilliant blue background. It is difficult to say, because her armor is far from pristine, but he thinks where the six flourishes between the rays should be, she has worked in the emblems of some of her foremothers- he can see Idril, Luthien, Galadriel, and Ëarwen, but two others were obscured by dents and dried blood.

“You desire Sauron to know fear?” she demanded. “What can he possibly fear more than the remaining princes of the Eldar marching with the heir of Elendil? The last time an alliance of men and elves fought him in the shadow of Mount Doom, it didn’t end very well for him.”

“I would be proud to have Anariel Nairallë march with me,” Aragorn said quietly, and privately enjoyed the surprise on Imrahil and Eomer’s faces as they realized that the tiny elleth was the famous Dagnis.

He said nothing of Xander, because he hoped the man did not mean to march. Aragorn had not the skill of the twins or their father Elrond in such matters, but he was quite certain the last of the Scoobies was far more injured than he was letting on.

He waited until the others had left, and it was only Anariel, her brothers, and Xander in the tent. But before he could raise the subject, Elladan shook his head ever so slightly to dissuade him. So he merely asked if Anariel would now favor him with news of her doings.

The haggard look he has never before seen on her face was answer enough, but she did eventually reply in words.

“The grief is still too near, Estel. Ask again when the Shadow has been lifted, and I will speak of it then if I can.”

That her brothers are all but hugging her to them as they would a small child told him that whatever has passed in the East was as bad if not worse than the battle before his city. It saddened him to think that men will sing no songs of it in days to come, but he could practically hear her scoff that it was not for _songs_ that she had gone.

“Willow?” he asked gently, understanding that if only Xander has returned, it would be best not to speak of Anya.

Her smile was heartbreaking, her eyes lost in memory.

“She was amazing. We could not have done it without her,” she said quietly.

Her brother’s hand on her shoulder returned her to the present.

“Do we march at once, Estel, or have I time to bathe and see to my armor?”

He could not help but laugh, though in truth there was little mirth in it. Though they walk into the very teeth of Sauron, she would make sure she looks her best first. He wondered what Arwen would say if she could see her little sister now.

Anariel departed to find her bath. Xander followed her out, the two of them taking bets in Scooby as to who the Rohirrim will find more attractive, her or Asfaloth.

Aragorn looked to the twins as soon as the other pair were out of earshot. Their grim looks confirmed his fears about the man who has been nearly as much of an influence on him as Elrond.

“He should not march with us,” Aragorn said, shaken. He will not have Xander feel he must fight even as his strength slips away from him.

“Do not attempt to deny him, Estel,” Elladan replied somberly. “It is his wish to go. And it will be the last thing he does.”

He looked from one twin to the other.

Elrohir sighed.

“Anariel has already told us. They ran into trouble on the road, an orc ambush. At least one had a poisoned blade. They were in haste and the wound did not look severe, so it was only when it began to fester that they realized. Perhaps if it had been attended by one of us at once, he might have been healed. It is difficult to say, but we were not there and what chance he may have had passed. There is little we can do now but ease his pain.”

“How long?” Aragorn asked hoarsely.

“With most men, I would say a few days at most. But he is more like a man of Numenor than the Edain of these later days,” Elladan said heavily. “He may cling to life longer if he sees need. We only guess at the poison, but if we are right, he will be clear headed until the end, though the longer he lasts, the more painful it will be.”

“It might be in some ways kinder to leave him in the care of healers,” Elrohir conceded, “but his pride will not allow it- nor his love for our sister. He will see this through to the end.”


	5. The Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The War of the Ring is over, but for the children of Elrond, the victory is bittersweet.

_The battle's done  
And we kinda won  
So we sound our victory cheer..._

It was only much later, long after the battle was over and the Ringbearer and his faithful companion had been saved from the ruin of Mount Doom, that Aragorn found her at last. She stood with her brothers, one of them patiently stitching her arm, where she had taken a wound that looked to be from a Haradrim scythe.

“You had bracers, little sister,” Elrohir was saying reproachfully. “What happened to them?”

She shrugged unconcernedly. Aragorn was sure from the look in her eyes that she was still feeling enough of what she termed adrenaline to not even notice the stitches going in.

“Gave them to a young boy,” she said, focused on something too far in the distance for mortal eyes to see – or perhaps impossible for any eyes but hers. “One of the Rohirrim, I think. He seemed to need them more than I did.”

Aragorn tried not to laugh. While he knew she had once lived as a mortal, her years spent among elves have ruined any ability she may have ever had to gauge the age of the Edain. The ‘young boy’ in question was Eomer’s squire, Haleth, all but a man by Rohirric standards – and he had been telling any who would listen of the magic elven arm guards that protected him during the battle. They will doubtless become an heirloom of his house, passed from father to son until the years wear them to dust.

“The boy probably had better sense than to take on an entire battalion of Haradrim alone,” Elladan told his sister sternly – or as sternly as he could manage under the circumstances. For they have won, and she was alive. They will be able to take her home to their parents, and her passage to the Undying Lands will be by way of Mithlond rather than Mandos.

Aragorn himself was tempted to shake her and ask what she had been thinking regarding a good many tricks she pulled during the battle, but he knew it would do no good. It was not merely that he was to her still littler more than a boy himself.

She lived. Her enemies did not. Therefore, in her mind, whatever she had done had worked. There was some small comfort in the knowledge that she was unlikely to need to do such things ever again.

Aragorn also knew what she had lost this day, and that there was no balm for such pain within the circles of the world- the world she is bound to until its breaking.

She could barely keep still, even now, hours after most have sought the comfort of tents and campfires. He could see that she longed to fight yet. If asked, he doubted not that she would say she needed to make safe the world of men. He knew as well as her older brothers did that she would not admit the full truth.

He himself had not understood, at first, when all others had realized the battle was over and laid down their arms in relief, why she did not do the same. She had strode fearlessly- recklessly, even- through the wreckage of the Morannon and into Mordor itself, clearing any remnants of Sauron’s forces that might have thought to assault the Army of the West as it stood down.

It was only when he caught Elrohir’s eye, that the twins had explained it to him.

“She keeps moving to put off the pain for as long as she can,” Elrohir said quietly.

“For when she stops, they will truly be gone,” Elladan had finished, watching his little sister with concern.

She has stopped now – when the moon rose, the twins had finally left her no other choice. Aragorn wasn’t certain what it was they had whispered in her ear, but she had sheathed her sword, no matter how grudgingly, and allowed them to lead her back to the camp.

They were now seeing to all the hurts she had ignored all day. Aragorn had seen before that she could take truly frightening amounts of damage and still be upright, but she has outdone herself this time. He suspected there was still more that is not visible, which Elladan and Elrohir would wait to attend to until she was persuaded to actually enter the tent.

Last night, it was her tent and Xander’s. Tonight, in name at least, it is only hers – though Aragorn doubted their brothers would leave her alone. Surely not this night, and probably not for many to come.

When Aragorn made to approach, Elladan shook his head. For whatever reason, he was to leave her to her older brothers for now. Legolas beckoned for him to come away.

“I do not understand,” Aragorn said quietly.

He did not wish to draw attention to her, so he kept his voice low.

Legolas sighed.

“Elladan and Elrohir think it would pain her to be near you right now,” Legolas told him as gently as possible.

Aragorn felt as if he’d been slapped. This was Anariel, who he has known since he was a boy.

Legolas looked uncomfortable being tasked with delivering this news, and sighed again.

“They will explain further, once they have settled her.”

His very choice of words explained why it was him and not the twins speaking to Aragorn right now – they were the oldest of the children of Elrond, and in this moment they were very much Anariel’s big brothers. Whether she would admit to it or not, she needed them, badly.

“Please, Aragorn, do not misunderstand,” Legolas added. “She loves you as a brother. It is just…”

He trailed off, lacking words for what it was, though he surely knew – aside from her brothers, he was her closest friend.

Indeed, Aragorn had sometimes thought they might be a pair, though as yet undeclared. Well he knew that the Eldar did not wed in times of war. But when he had hinted as much to Legolas in the Golden Wood, the prince of Eryn Lasgalen had laughed for the first time since Mithrandir had fallen before assuring him that matters did not stand thus.

It was not until several hours later that the twins found him. He was in his own tent, trying not to brood. He had thought things better between the two of them, but if Anariel could not look on him without pain even now…

“That is not the way of it, honeg,” a tired voice said from the entrance.

He looked up to find Elladan and Elrohir looking as exhausted as he felt.

“You left her on her own?” he asked, surprised.

Elves who had just suffered shock or loss usually kept close to family.

“Legolas is with her,” Elrohir replied. “She sleeps- and for a wonder, without us needing to dose her with anything,”

“Probably because she has not slept this last week,” Elladan muttered.

“We will return to her soon enough,” Elrohir continued, as though his twin had not spoken.

“But we needed to see to you also,” Elladan said, picking up where his brother left off as the twins so often did. “Not only to ensure that your wounds have been properly tended, but so that you understand that Anariel does not think badly of you.”

“What is it, then?” he asks quietly.

The twins exchanged a glance, and he can tell they are having one of their silent exchanges before Elladan attempted to answer.

“She has lost two mortal sisters and a mortal brother in less than a week, as well as one of our elven kin, who rode East with her. You know she cannot look on you without seeing your mortality- and Arwen’s- and the grief of her losses is so raw that we believe seeing you just now would only cause her fresh pain.”

It is such an unfair thing, when all he wishes to do is offer her words of condolence and comfort, that there is nothing he can say.

“What is more,” Elrohir added, “she is exhausted, sorely tired in both fëa and hroa. She is in no state to conceal such pain as she usually would, and to know that she wounded you in her hurt would cause her further grief. Perhaps not at once, but she would reproach herself for it all the more fiercely later.”

Elrohir sighed.

“Think on this also, Estel,” he continued. “It is not merely that they were mortal, or even that Arwen has also chosen mortality for love of you. They were the companions of her youth, the ones who knew her before she passed into legend.”

“Indeed, she has lost not only her dearest companions, but almost a part of herself,” Elladan said quietly. “None now live to whom she is first and always Buffy.”

“In some ways, they were closer to her than we are,” Elrohir mused. “No matter how much they taught us, we can never know the songs of California as they did, or understand her full meaning when she says something from one of their movies.”

“And they were with her for her triumphs and tragedies in that other world,” Elladan added. “They were at her side then, as we could not be. To lose that…”

Aragorn still did not feel much better.

“Estel, ask yourself how you will feel in a year or so,” Elrohir suggested, trying another tack, “when you must bid our youngest sister farewell, knowing it is a parting for all time.”

“Bearing in mind that it will not be quite the same,” Elladan amended wryly. “For Tindomiel will still live, though you will have no further news of her.”

“Must Tinu go so soon?” Aragorn asked, startled. He had not expected that parting to come so swiftly on the heels of the achievement of his hopes and dreams. He knew Arwen had already extracted a promise from her brothers to remain in Middle Earth as long as she lived. He had assumed Anariel and Tindomiel would stay as well.

The twins glanced at each other, and Aragorn felt once again a gawky youth, unaware despite a childhood of tutoring by the best masters in Imladris of so many things that the ageless folk around him took for granted.

“She is not yet of age,” Elrohir answered slowly. “So she will depart when our parents do. Adar cannot linger long on these shores, however greatly he might desire to know his grandchildren. The power of the Three has ended along with the One, and he has borne Vilya since the Second Age. He would fade, and swiftly, if he tarried.”

“We note the change in grandmother’s voice already,” Elladan added solemnly. “We are certain it is the same for adar, though he has never had her flair for osanwë over distance.”

“But Tindomiel has travelled with Arwen before,” Aragorn protested. Surely Arwen’s probity as a guardian for her own baby sister was not in question!

“To Lothlorien, yes, where our grandparents were,” Elrohir confirmed. “But grandmother will depart at the same time as our parents, and I suspect grandfather will not think it wise for Tinu to remain, even under his care.”

“It would be hard indeed on our mother to sail without any of her children,” Elladan murmured. “Grandfather would certainly argue against that, for his daughter is no less dear to him than Tindomiel is to our mother. No, Estel, she will depart with our parents. Make the most of her visit to Gondor, for it will be the only one.”

“And Anariel?” he asks hoarsely.

“Oh, we expect she will remain as long as you and Arwen do,” Elrohir replied easily. “As will we.”

“Though if you meant right now, we are not yet certain. If she finds it painful to remain here, we think to send her to Thranduil with tidings of Legolas, and thence to Lorien, to await our parents and sisters,” Elladan added. “By the time she returns in their company, her grief should be bearable even among edain. I doubt she could stand to enter the White City just now.”

Elrohir shook his head.

“I still think she may surprise you, brother,” he replied, sounding as if this was something the twins had already discussed privately. “One cannot tell in such matters. Do not forget they spent several happy years in the city.”

Aragorn was startled, for though he had a vague notion Anariel had been to Gondor before, he had not known she knew Minas Tirith well.

“Oh, yes,” Elladan confirmed, with the ghost of a smirk at his foster brother’s surprise. “They dwelt here for a time before journeying east to explore Rhûn and Khand. Our sister even dared to scout the Black Land itself.”

Aragorn’s jaw dropped at that, any lingering hurt feelings dispelled by purest astonishment – he has always known there is very little Anariel Dagnis would not attempt if she saw good reason to do it, but to walk into Mordor in his lifetime?

Elrohir’s smile is just as proud as his brother’s – their sister was probably the only elf since the end of the Second Age who has entered Mordor and lived to tell of it. She is certainly the only one since Sauron returned.

“She reasoned that if they went in from the East, they would be able to pass unnoticed,” he explained. “Although we were able to persuade her that taking all the Scoobies was an unnecessary risk. In the end, only she and Anya went.”

Aragorn dearly hoped that before his days end, Anariel may be persuaded to tell that tale.

He will ask her about it – but not today.


End file.
